Darkness Falls
by Raett2020
Summary: Behind green eyes is an abusive past and a ruthless future. When you're always different you come to expect the differences and learn to thrive. Now his journey begins. Rated for violence. First year, Dark!Harry, child abuse
1. Darkness

Darkness.

It surrounds. It consumes. It is a void in which nothing can survive. And yet we all need the darkness to retreat into, away from ourselves. It heals even when it hurts. Only in the dark can you truly be free to be yourself. No one to judge. No one to condemn.

He closed his eyes rather then stare out into the darkness. Open or closed there was nothing to see. Closed or open he could still smell the sharp tang of blood. It pervaded the senses, never letting him forget, no matter how still he stayed and tried to not jostle his injuries.

Maybe this was his punishment for having to accompany the family to the zoo. So what if he had done everything his keepers had told him. He still wasn't good enough. Strange things had still happened. And anything that wasn't normal was automatically his fault. This was the way of things.

_Freak. Useless. Boy._ That's all he was.

In primary school they had taught that everyone deserved to be happy. But what about when you always did things wrong. Did that deserve happiness?

No, of course not. Being bad got you in trouble. Strange things happing was him being bad, so of course more trouble.

This was the way of things.

It was almost soothing to listen to the sounds of the quiet house. Everything was so quiet at night. Like there was no one there but him. He would just close his eyes and lay back, pretending to be floating away on a river of darkness. It was safe in the dark. No one ever hurt him in the dark. Only in the daylight or under lamplight was he in danger.

Shivering, he lay back onto his cot, trying to stretch out the best he could. Softly he hissed in pain as he strained a cracked rib. He could barely breath without it hurting. The pain distracted him enough to keep his mind from drifting to the lazily flowing river in the dark, from letting him dream about a place where he could never be hurt again.

Letting out a soft sigh he got as comfortable as he could and started cataloguing the day into separate mental folders. It helped keep a check on his emotions by doing this. He could let go and focus on what needed to be done instead of feeling. It was only when he was alone in the dark that he let himself feel. Only then was it safe to have opinions or thoughts.

Even now he wondered why he had imagined that he could actually speak to the snake. People couldn't talk to animals. That was stupid. Although... this wasn't the first time he had pretended he could talk to snakes. Last summer, while working in the garden, he had held a small conversation with the garden snake, just talking about the weather and the local prey.

It was so nice to pretend to have a friend... just for a little while.

But he didn't deserve to have friends. No one liked such a useless person. A waste of space. At least he could contribute in the little ways.

Finally, after he managed to reign in his thoughts, he managed to fall into a restless sleep.

Tomorrow, things would begin to change.


	2. Of Letters and Snakes

**A/N: Well, I was so excited to get this up so quickly I managed to skip editing it. Gave it a quick glance over and winced... So here's my quickly edited version. Thanks for reading!**

Everything was a mess. Even with his new resolution that things would start to change, those changes did not happen over night. At least, not at first. Most of the work he did around the house wasn't enough to strain his cracked ribs. Cooking, cleaning, watering the yard. Just your standard chores for this ten year old boy. The rest of the time he spent in his cupboard, which was good for his healing ribs. And it kept him in the wonderful dark.

On the mornings he cooked, he even got a bit of the extra food. Not much mind you, but enough that it made the cooking worth it.

It was on a morning like this that everything went crazy. He had prepared breakfast and set the table, washed up the dishes and was getting ready to sit when the family heard the mail arrival. After a bit of banter and being whacked with his cousin's stick, he quickly made his way over to the front door and scooped up the few envelopes from the floor. Bills, a post card and... impossible! It was a letter for him! There never was any mail for the only non Dursely in residence. Even his cousin got some occasionally- letters from his aunt, holiday cards from his friends, that sort of thing.

Very carefully, so as not to draw attention to himself, he delivered the family's mail then looked at his precious letter. Even going so far as to run his fingers over the bright green ink with his name and the address. _Cupboard under the stairs._ Someone knew where he slept? He had never thought it strange. He was bad, he was a freak. Of course he didn't get a bedroom. He didn't deserve a bed like all the good girls and boys. Seeing that on the letter solidified that for the young boy. They knew where he slept so it must be where he belonged, just like he always thought, just like his family told him.

"Dad! Harry's got a letter!" Dudley practically shrieked drawing his parents attention.

Uncle snatched the heavy envelope out of his hands while Aunt sneered, twisting her vaguely horse like face. "Who'd be writing you, boy. Must be a mistake."

But it wasn't a mistake. It had his cupboard on it. That couldn't be a mistake, right?

As Harry watched his Aunt pale and Uncle start to go purple with rage he knew bringing that letter to the kitchen was a major mistake. Uncle used his large meaty hands to rip the letter into shreds and Aunt stood so quickly her chair fell over backwards.

"Go to your cupboard!" Uncle roared and shook with rage. Harry trembled and scrambled as quickly as he could, food forgotten in his mad dash around the corner and closing the door quickly behind himself. Tremors of fear ran up and down his body. It was daytime, he wasn't safe. The cupboard was safe for now. But only until they came and pulled him out of it.

That thought almost seemed to become a reality to the scared boy. He could hear his uncle's heavy steps as he came to the cupboard. Harry saw the door swing open in slow motion and felt like his doom was on the other side.

"He's gunna punish me for sure," Harry whispered to himself, eyes on the door. The thought that it wasn't his fault for receiving the letter didn't cross his mind. He only knew that that letter had something to do with his abnormalness. Who addresses a letter to particular bedrooms? Freaks, that's who. So of course it was his fault. Harry sighed as the door finished swinging open. His ribs had just finished healing too.

So it was an utter surprise when the punishment never came. Uncle stepped in and sat on the edge of Harry's cot and started an almost normal conversation.

"I, err.. Petunia and I were talking. You're getting bigger now and this cupboards a bit too cramped," He looked around in emphasis. "So you're moving up to Dudley's second bedroom."

Harry's next words were just over a whisper, "C-can I have my letter? It was addressed to me... I'd like to read it, please."

Vernon's face paled, went green then settled on a dusk red color. The young boy flinched when he saw how angry that question made his uncle. Would he be punished now?

"Just get your stuff upstairs before I change my mind, boy!" Uncle snarled and left quickly before anything else could happen.

Harry let out the breath he had been hurting. Uncle was upset and he hadn't gotten hurt? _And_ he was moving into Dudley's second bedroom upstairs? Would wonders never cease? Though he wished he could have his letter.

Despite the excitement of moving upstairs, his mind never strayed far from thoughts of that strange letter with the brilliant green ink written in flowing strokes across the front. It was gone for good. While he was moving his meager things up, Harry had spotted Aunt Petunia burning the pieces that remained from his uncle ripping it up. Even the encroaching darkness didn't help him. For one, it didn't seem to get as dark in the bedroom as it did in his cupboard. Harry sat on the bed with his back to the wall, eyes darting out the window to the view outside and towards his door. It was more open up here. That meant there were more places for a threat to come from.

Light form the street lamps flooded the room as darkness wore on, chasing away its sweet embrace.

'_Maybe, if I can't see out, they can't see in..._' Before he knew it, Harry was standing on his bed and throwing his thin blanket over the sheer curtains, blocking out most of the lamplight.

There. Now it was dark. Now it would be safe enough to sleep.

Sleep he did. After spending a few minutes thinking about the day letterless Harry Potter drifted off to sleep.

XoXoX

He had dreamed about the flying motorcycle again. Just like the night before Dudley's birthday. Unlike before though, the motorcycle was bringing him letters addressed to him in glowing green ink. There were hundreds of them, swamping Harry until he couldn't lift his arms to even get at one to open. That was almost as infuriating as not having a letter at all.

It also seemed to be the trend of the week. Harry was having to water the flowers while Aunt Petunia was destroying the twenty four letters delivered by the milkman on Saturday. The water couldn't drowned out the sound of the food processor shredding his desired letters.

Though he wondered why they just couldn't slip him one. Harry knew they were watching him. The second letter was addressed to the smallest bedroom instead of his cupboard like before. Who ever was sending these letters couldn't just slip him one? It didn't make sense to the young boy, but then again, a lot in life didn't make sense to him. He was used to it by now.

Harry was just glad his family didn't seem to be blaming him for the letters. It's not like he could really control what another person was doing. It's not like he was magic or anything. Magic didn't exist.

"_Greetingsss, ssspeaker._" Harry turned towards the hissing voice off to his side and smiled. It was his snake friend he was speaking to a few weeks ago. He was back!

"_Hello. How have you been?_" Harry made sure not to get the small garden snake wet with the water.

"_The hunting hasss been good. I am content._" It's tongue flicked out, tasting the air. "_You ssseem well._"

Harry smiled again, "_It is alwayss nice to enjoy the sunssshine._" He looked up at the cloudless day and shrugged. "_I need to go back insside. Will you be here later?_"

He could have sworn that she nodded, just like the boa at the zoo, "_Until the sun setsss. Then I musst ssleep._"

Harry reached down to softly stroke her head then shut off the water and went back into the house, making sure not to leave a mess. He had never set a time to meet the garden snake. He just always seemed to show up on his own. It really made Harry wonder if it would be there when he went back out after dinner. Maybe he wasn't pretending... maybe he could really speak to snakes?

Unfortunately, Harry wouldn't get the chance to find out for sure.

XoXoX

After helping with lunch, Harry was supposed to do laundry. It was a rote task, nothing unusual. Fate must hate him. Somehow, some of Aunt Petunia's red unmentionables got mixed in with Uncle Vernon's white work shirts. Harry didn't even know how Aunt Petunia's clothes got mixed in, he was only washing Uncle's things.

When Petunia was transferring the clothes to the dryer, her shriek drew the whole house's attention. Vernon came running, fearing something had happened.

"What is it, Pet?"

She only held out the clothes in response. His specially made shirts... ruined! All because of that boy's carelessness! Vernon let out a wordless snarl and went to stalk his nephew down, all plans of trying to be nicer since the _freaks_ were possibly watching the house forgotten.

He found his nephew pulling things out of the fridge to get started on dinner. Without a thought, he lashed out, fist colliding with Harry's back. Harry gasped as he was slammed into the counter. Something crunched sickenly in his rib cage and his stagger caused Vernon's next punch to miss. Getting more and more upset, Vernon kicked the small boy's legs out from underneath him and started kicking with his heavy boot. One crunch, two crunch. Harry coughed and spat out blood on the clean tile floor.

Dudley watched his father from the kitchen table. He had been having a pre-dinner snack. _He_ had stuck his mum's things in the washer after the load was started. He had been bored and wanted a show. And now he was getting one. Dudley smiled in glee, brushing blonde hair out of his face as he went and got his Smelting's stick to help his father abuse his cousin. Dudley laughed, hatred in his eyes as he broke Harry's left arm. Ever since that _stupid_ letter came he hadn't been allowed to play Harry Hunting with his friends. He made up for it now, punching and smacking with his stick.

Vernon gave his son a look, stopping with the kicking and beating himself to let Dudley have his turn. He even went so far as to step over to the gas stove and light it. Vernon picked Harry up by the scruff of his neck and pressed his hands into the burning flame.

Harry cried out, trying to pull his broken arm away form the stove. Tears ran down his face, mixing with blood seeping from his nose and the corner of his mouth.

"I'm s-s-sorry! Stop, please, oh please!" Harry almost choked on his words trying to get them out. He cried and sobbed and tried to pull out of his uncles tight grasp. He could feel the bruises from his fingers forming on his muscles.

Then Petunia walked in. "Vernon! Not in my kitchen! You're making it filthy!" She glared at her husband until he dragged that burden on them out of the kitchen and threw him forcefully into the cupboard.

The cot was still set up in there even if nothing else was. Harry tried his best to huddle, tried not to move, tried not to cry as the door was slammed shut hard enough to make the stairs rattle then it was locked. He'd been bad. They must have found out about his talking to the snake. That was the only bad thing he'd done in days!

But he was back in the dark. That was good. He might have had problems if they had thrown him into his new bedroom. At least here, when he woke up it wouldn't hurt so much. Harry managed to cry himself to sleep, whispering apologies and how he'd never do it again.

It was still dark when he woke up. The house was in the quiet stillness he was used to, except for the sound of heavy rain hitting the windows and thunder nearly threatening to shake the house down. Even then, it lacked the usual sounds of people going about their business.

Everything _hurt_ but not as much as before the dark. There was only a mild sting in his hands and now Harry could breath without hurting himself worse. It was no longer the pain of the hurts, it was more of the overall amount keeping him in place. His left arm was still broken. He was covered in bruises. Though it wasn't as bad as the last time he had sent Uncle Vernon into a rage. That time, he couldn't walk for weeks, he had trouble breathing for two or three days. He had even been blind for a short time. That had been scarily comforting. It could be daylight outside but he would be in his safe comfortable dark. That illusion was broken when his sight came back.

Harry shifted uncomfortably and tested his door. It was still locked. But he needed to use the washroom. Biting his lip, Harry wished his door was opened. Then he could sneak out and maybe grab some leftover dinner from the kitchen.

He closed green eyes and just kept wishing and wishing. Then, so soft he thought he imagined it, the locked popped open and the door swung slightly outward.

His jaw dropped and Harry stared at the door for a good five minutes before making his way to the little bathroom by the kitchen.

He prayed no one would find him, that no one needed a drink of water.

Thankfully no one did wake up and Harry limped his way into the kitchen, grabbed a bite then made his way back to the cupboard. Vaguely, Harry wondered how long he'd been out. Last time, they had let him sleep until he woke up. It was the only time they ever did. So Harry snuck a quick glance at calendar on the wall.

Every night after dinner, Aunt Petunia would check off the day. Harry stared. It had been Saturday, July 28th when the milkman brought the eggs. Now the 29th and 30th were checked off. Bright green eyes flickered towards the clock on the wall. Ten forty-five. He'd be eleven in little more then an hour!

Quickly making his way, Harry limped back into the cupboard. It was alright. The dark was his friend. Everything would be okay. No one could tell Uncle he'd somehow opened his lock.

Harry was settled back inside onto his cot when he had a thought, how was he going to lock it back up?

He tried wishing it would lock back up, much like he had wished it would open. Nothing. It hadn't worked. Harry spent so long trying to mentally close it that he lost track of the time. Before too long the clock ticked past eleven, past eleven thirty. The second hand ticked closer and closer towards midnight. The echo drowned out the quiet of the house. If the family had been awake, they would have been able to hear it loud and clear. Even over the noise of the storm outside.

Suddenly hour, minute and second hand all stood straight and pointing to twelve. It was midnight. Harry Potter had just turned eleven. He was too distracted to think about that when as soon as the ticking stopped, someone banged hard on the front door.

Harry gasped and scooted towards the back of his cupboard. He closed his eyes and counted to five. There was no one there. No one at all. He kept telling that to himself even as he heard the Dursely's tromp down the stairs to find out what was going on.

"Who are you! What are you doing knocking at this time of night!"

Harry heard Vernon yell and silently slipped out of his cupboard. He stood behind Dudley, his fat cousin's bulk hiding him but he could see the tall man in the entryway. He was pale white with black stringy hair and a large hooked nose. It looked like somebody had broken it before. Absentmindedly, Harry touched his still broken arm. He briefly reminded Harry of some of the large snakes he'd seen in pictures at school, vicious and foreboding. The tall man sneered at Vernon and spoke slowly, voice full of contempt.

"I am Professor Snape. I am here for the boy."


	3. Content No More

**A/N: Hmm.. It seems I forgot to disclaim. Oops? _Angry cries of a mob can be heard outside. Lawyers surround the building, pitchforks in one hand, court summons in the other.__Tapes a black piece of paper with silver embossing to the front page:_** I'm sorry! I 'm sorry!

**I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own the other players on his stage. I would tell you not to sue, but unless you're Ms. J.K, Warner Bros., or some of their affiliates, you don't really have the right. So there. (Not that you'd get much... Unless you want a bunch of video games and a broken laptop?)**

**Oh, and since I didn't mention it before (it's in my bio though!) I'm writing most of the text from memory. I moved to Canada and had to leave most of my books behind for now so I don't have my HP books. Sooo... my fact checking is done at the HP Lexicon (link in bio). It's not too shabby. Even J.K. says she'll go on there to check things she can't remember if she doesn't have a book on hand.**

Chapter Two: Content No More

Severus Snape, Potions Master and head of House Slytherin had been content. He had been staring into the flames of candles dancing on the hearth, firewhiskey in hand, mind on the little free time he had before the new school year and the flood of incompetent children. Never mind that just over a decade ago he had been one of those students, the last few years had been utterly horrible to teach.

Severus was content to be alone. He was content to think and pretend these long moments would never end. Sadly, they always did.

"Brooding again, Severus?" The voice was soft, not judging yet he couldn't ignore it.

"Merely lamenting the end of summer," Severus drawled then took a gulp of his firewhiskey. "What do you want?"

Finally, Severus turned towards the doorway to regard his employer Headmaster Dumbledor. '_Why does that infernal twinkling never cease?_' True, the middle aged man it was a small wandless spell that would allow anyone who was caught in it feel more comfortable but it always seemed to just irritate the Potion's Master more.

At the question, Dumbledor sighed, a bit of age playing on his face. His heavy eyebrows lifted and seemed to stare into Severus's very soul. Albus Dumbledor knew his Slytherin teacher rather well. In fact he didn't even need Legillimancy to know precisely what he was thinking. "I'm sorry for intruding on you, but a student needs to be collected. He has not been receiving his letters."

Severus's face soured, "Then he is most likely not going to be one of my snakes. Send one of the others."

Dumbledor rambled over towards the sitting area, sat himself down then poured a small glass of the strong stuff. "Minerva is busy with a crop of muggleborns in London, Fillius is currently out of the country with his kin and Pomona is at a herbology conference in Paris. I would ask Hagrid, but he's in the hospital wing with some bad bites from Fluffy. Really, Severus, there is no one else." He pulled a small piece of paper from his pocket and slid it across the table. "This is the address. Just pick the boy up and take him to the Leaky Cauldron. Minerva will meet him tomorrow and take him to gather his supplies. Just one night, Severus."

Tilting his head back, Severus downed the rest of his alcohol, quiet evening shattered and content no more. "I will go collect this student, Albus."

Dumbledor's face broke out in to a wide grin, "Splendid! Oh, and a little something for your trouble." The old wizard pulled a nice full bottle of Ogden's from one of his many pockets. Standing and making his way out of the dungeon room, Dumbledor paused at the door. "Try not to drink it all tonight."

Severus had snorted at the time. He normally didn't drink too much, but now, standing in the living room of Number Four Privet Dr, Little Whinging, Surrey, Severus Snape wasn't so sure he wouldn't.

Across the room, half hidden behind a rather morbidly large blonde boy was a small, haunted looking frail child. His clothes were coated in what looked like dried blood. And judging from the angle that he was holding his left arm, Severus was pretty sure it was broken. Next Severus took in the bright green eyes, half hidden behind glasses mostly held together by tape; then the messy black hair. Injuries and frailty aside, the boy looked like a carbon copy of one man in particular. Severus swore mentally but held out a letter made out to one Harry J. Potter, cupboard under the stairs.

The boy in question took a few hesitant steps forward before the man whom had been yelling earlier roared to life again, "No! The boy isn't going! He won't be doing any of that freakishness!"

"Come along, Potter," Severus drawled. "The Headmaster sent me to fetch you and we will be going." Severus took a few steps forward, ignoring the boy's guardians, letter still held out.

Potter didn't take the letter quite yet. Instead, he looked to his aunt and uncle, "Going where? He's a professor so that makes it a school, right? Why shouldn't I go? What's this school for?"

That made Severus grind his teeth. This was taking too long. And why didn't the boy seem to know about Hogwarts? "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Potter. You're parents were students there and you will be starting September first."

The boy's jaw dropped, "M-magic is real?" Then he turned to his family. "You knew?!"

His aunt, a tall skinny woman with a long horse face was blessed with none of Lily Evan's beauty nor poise, "Knew? Of course we knew! Lily got a letter just like that. Beautiful, special Lily! I was the only one who knew what she was: a freak! She'd wave that stick and abnormal things would happen! It wasn't right! But did mother and father believe me? No! They threw the praise at her feet. Lily could do no wrong! Then she went and got herself blown up and we got saddled with you, ungrateful little brat that you are!"

"Blown up?" It was almost funny to Severus to watch Potter splutter. "You told me my parents died in a car crash!"

Overhead, the thunderstorm raged, Lightning flashed and thunder boomed, leaving an almost quiet echo after the yelling. Severus put a hand on Potter's shoulder, staying away from the broken arm. "We've got to be going, Potter. You can read your letter later."

The boy shrunk slightly in on himself when Severus touched him, somewhat like he was resisting flinching. Though Potter didn't resist as Severus pulled him slightly away from his family. He seemed broken and wooden as they walked out the door into the dying storm. With all the commotion, no one had noticed the rain letting up. As they walked partway down the street the heavy rain had changed into an almost warm and light shower.

Severus considered the options as they walked. He had a suspicion the boy was too injured to take a portkey successfully as had been originally planned. It would have to be either side-along or the Knight Bus.

XoXoX

Harry was deep in his own thoughts as the pair walked. All the little things that had never made sense to him were starting to fall into place. It was part of why he was ostracized and an outcast from the Dursley's. He actually _wasn't_ a normal person. They really were right. Harry could feel a burn of tears blending in with the warm rain. No, no crying; not here, not in front of the professor. He wouldn't be weak in front of this man. He was a freak too. Harry wasn't alone anymore.

"Sir?" Harry spoke without realizing he was going to, "You mentioned my parents...? Did you know them?"

The professor grimaced then nodded. "Yes. I was in the same year as them. They were in Gryffindor house while I was in Slytherin. We were naturally rivals."

Chewing on his lip, Harry considered this. So there were two houses at the school? Before he could question more, the man continued, "Hogwarts has four houses: Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin. They are named for the founders and students are sorted based on qualities. The obnoxiously brave go to Gryffindor, the studious to Ravenclaw, loyal and hardworking belong to Hufflepuff and the cunning ambitious to Slytherin. I am the Head to Slytherin house. Brace yourself."

With those last words, the head of Slytherin grabbed Harry's shoulder. If felt like they were being squeezed through a tight tube. Before Harry could close his eyes, the arrived with a soft crack.

"Wha- what was that?" He managed to wheeze out. It had squished on his cracked ribs and felt like it was going to crush his lungs. He rubbed his unbroken arm over his chest to ease it.

"Apparation, specifically side-along apparation. You will learn once you're seventeen."

Sparing a quick look around, Harry noticed they were in a back alley with nothing but the trash bins. This certainly was not were they were before! Harry followed the man quietly into the building through a door. Professor Snape walked up to a mostly toothless bald man cleaning glasses at the bar.

"Welcome to the Leaky Cauldron, Professor. Can I get ya something?"

Harry eyed the man wearily. He didn't like meeting new people.

"Just a room, Tom. The boy will be staying the night."

Tom looked Harry over real quick. Harry was puzzled when his eyes widened. "H-Harry Potter? Right you are. Suite twelve is open. Right this way, sirs!"

Now he was more confused. How had the innkeeper known who Harry was? Regardless, Harry followed the two men upstairs. Everything was so strange, just the other day he was in the backyard talking to a snake, he had managed to unlock his cupboard just a few hours ago and now he was gone from the Dursley's and going to learn how to be a wizard! A small smile bloomed over his lips but disappeared before either of the men noticed.

They had stopped in front of a nice sized suite, the bedroom connected to the bathroom by a small door. Tom shook Harry's hand hard for a few moments before making himself scarce. He couldn't leave the bar for long after all.

Snape sneered at the small bit of confusion on Harry's face. "I would suggest you read _Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ to understand why everyone will fawn over you, Potter. Now, what besides your arm is injured?"

Harry turned towards Snape wide eyed. He had stepped into the room and was looking around then going to head over to the bed when he stopped at the question. He wanted to know? "My ribs are cracked, sir. My hands are burned, but that'll be healed by morning." Harry flinched from the sneer on Snape's face.

"Try not to jostle yourself too much tonight. I'll be back in the morning to check on your wounds and will bring some potions to ease the pain." And then he stormed out.

Harry watched the door for a bit and then decided the professor wasn't coming back. Harry went into the bathroom and washed his face before shucking his blood-encrusted shirt and pants. He turned out the light and crawled into bed. The room was so dark... he sighed in happiness and let it filter into his mind, falling asleep to darkness's silence.

**A/N: Next, Snape's reaction and Diagon Alley!**

**Okay, I've had about a hundred hits and not one person has left a review. That's a little saddening. Please, take the time to let me know one thing you like and one thing you don't like so far. Oh, and VOTE! Which house should I put Harry in?**


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